


If you allow me

by lessStress



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:00:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lessStress/pseuds/lessStress
Summary: The first words that your soulmate says to you are etched into your skin. Yixing has two words: "yes" and "no".
Relationships: Kim Junmyeon | Suho/Zhang Yi Xing | Lay
Comments: 7
Kudos: 66





	If you allow me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zvirk77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zvirk77/gifts).



> Also inspired by Sufjan Stevens - Futile Devices.

_Is this a bad idea?_

_Yes. No._

It’s nearly 1 am when Yixing closes the door behind him. He absentmindedly presses the words on his mark while waiting for the elevator. He has expected to feel hollowed out for quite some time, but something about Seoul has made the fog clouding his mind stronger, more persistent. It’s been affecting his songwriting – the dozens of tunes he’s been churning out are coming off dreary and subpar. One would have thought heartbreak would do wonders for his work.

Chanyeol has been checking on him every now and then. He knows Chanyeol means well – the tall fellow is the reason Yixing is here at all. Chanyeol was the one to call him up and extend the opportunity to produce for some new singers in Korea, and the one who told the Chinese man to stay at an apartment unit in the building his family owns. Yixing readily agreed to it all, booked a ticket right away and flew across the world with pared-down belongings. It was not quite what he wanted, but it felt like the only option when every nook and cranny of a city reminds him of someone.

“We don’t have to start working right away, you know,” Chanyeol said on the drive after picking him up at the airport. “We can go to Jeju or the Bahamas, chill for a while.”

“I’m here to work,” Yixing replied. “It’s more efficient to stay here.”

_Is this the right decision?_

_Yes. No._

As the elevator brings him down, Yixing studies the mark on his arm – tidy handwriting etched on the skin with only two words, “yes” and “no”. He’s had it for ten years now, and it still hasn’t changed its colour – which means he hasn’t met his soulmate. So many things have changed throughout that time, so many wounds have been developed, and this mark is somehow his constant. Yixing doesn’t quite understand it.

_If you don’t know what something means, give it your own meaning._

Yixing shakes his head, as if it could help him shed the thought.

He arrives shortly at the convenience store next to the apartment building. He picks up random items from any aisle he passes through – chips, packs of instant ramen, gums, bottles of soda – while pop songs play from the radio in the background. Chills run through his spine when the doorbell chimes, but it’s just another customer walking in. It _is_ a cold night.

When Yixing walks to the cashier, the new customer has already made it there with just a few items – bandaids and vitamins. The man is opening his wallet, but some coins fall out of his grasp and hit the floor with clinking noises. The man flails to collect the coins, hurried and muttering apologies to the staff member behind the counter.

It brings a smile to Yixing’s face, somehow – a reminder that other people don’t have it all together all the time. He drops his basket and crouches to help him.

“Happens to the best of us, right?” Yixing chuckles. He looks up with coins on his palm, ready to hand them over, only to find the man frozen still on the spot, kneeling and staring at him.

The man blinks, seemingly realising he’s been gaping instead of answering the question. “Yes?” he blurts, before shaking his head, “No.”

Yixing’s eyes turn wide. When the man pulls his own jacket sleeve to reveal Yixing’s scraggy handwriting – _happens to the best of us right_ – on his arm, Yixing drops the coins, making them clatter against the ceramic tiles once again.

**

They find a seat at the park, with their groceries set aside. Even against the dim streetlights, Yixing could see the mark on his own arm turning red on the edges. When he thumbs over the engraved words, sparks spread through his bones.

Yixing turns to the man sitting next to him – Junmyeon, he says his name is. He pushes his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose bridge, seemingly more out of nerves than necessity, and inadvertently shows the mark on his forearm while doing so. The letters are turning from black to red as well, mirroring Yixing’s.

“So,” Junmyeon says, glancing at Yixing’s full bag. “I take it you live nearby?”

They begin sharing how they ended up at the convenience store. Yixing learns that Junmyeon is his age, works as a financial analyst, and has lived on the first floor of the building for nearly two years.

“Producer-songwriter, huh?” Junmyeon chuckles. “I don’t really listen to new songs these days, but I’ll make sure to check yours out.” He looks away. “Your life is so colourful, you’ve done so much.”

 _Too much, but also not enough_ , Yixing thinks.

“So this is me.”

“And this is me.” Junmyeon replies, falling silent for a moment before he continues. “It’s been so long. I thought I might never find you.”

It’s the same with Yixing. In the past ten years, there have been moments when Yixing wondered why he had not had the luck to meet _his_ person, like all other people. But one thing led to another, and he put the idea of soulmates at the back of his mind.

Until it all crumbled.

“Me too.”

“So what’s next?” Junmyeon glances at him. “How do you want to approach this?”

Yixing swallows. “I’m not looking to be in a relationship right now.” _Perhaps it’s too blunt_ , he thinks. But he couldn’t put it any other way.

Junmyeon lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, melting the tension on his jaw that Yixing didn’t realise was there. “Neither am I. I’m just… content on my own.”

“Great.” Yixing didn’t expect this. He wonders why for a second, but that thought is immediately quashed down. _Don’t ask, don’t tell_. “Great! So, what now?”

“We can be…” Junmyeon mutters. “Friends?”

“Yeah, friends sounds good,” Yixing concurs, extending a hand.

Junmyeon’s eyes crinkle in amusement at the sight, forming little crescents. “Really?”

“We’re making it official. Friends.”

“If you say so.” Junmyeon takes his hand in a flimsy shake, which turns tight when Yixing squeezes back. “Friends.”

They walk back to the apartment building, and when Junmyeon waves him goodbye at the elevator, Yixing can feel his heart growing a little lighter for the first time in a while.

**

Yixing begins noticing Junmyeon more at the building. They would see each other in front of the elevator in the mornings or around the front gate, when Junmyeon is heading to work and Yixing is just returning from an all-nighter at the studio. Junmyeon would throw him an acknowledging smile or initiate small talks in such a reticent, soft voice, and it makes Yixing want to coo every time. With each encounter, Yixing grows to tolerate the idea of going out of his room more and more.

One evening, he is staring at a blank page in his notebook for too long. No lyrics seem to be fitting, and the only sound that would come out is the grumbling from his stomach. Yixing couldn’t remember if he’s eaten anything that day.

He steps out of the building and looks at the neon signs across the strip. It’s been years since he explored the city. He was really only a kid back then, unknowing and barely speaking Korean. It was all new, and he was so brave. Now, standing still at 28 years old, it’s all still unfamiliar and he wonders if he’s lost all that courage.

His stomach grumbles in protest once again that he walks into one of the restaurants around the corner, not caring much about which it is.

The place is warm inside, with shades of brown painting the chairs, tables and walls. There are some empty tables, but an occupied one draws his attention.

Seated there is a man with horn-rimmed glasses and a slightly wrinkled shirt under a wool vest, hunching over a plate of tteokbokki.

“Junmyeon?”

The man looks up like a deer in the headlights. “It’s you. Hi.” He rises, gesturing for Yixing to take the seat before him. “I’ve never seen you around here.”

“It’s my first time. Just trying something new.” Yixing settles on the chair. A waitstaff comes to their table, and Yixing orders a mild tteokbokki, trusting Junmyeon’s choice. “So you’re a regular here?”

“Yeah,” Junmyeon wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I’m not exactly a great cook, so I come here a lot.”

“You don’t look like it.” 

“Like I’m not good at cooking?” Junmyeon laughs. “I’m probably one of the worst that I know. Can you cook?”

Yixing can’t remember the last time he cooked. There were times when he made his go-to dishes, with recipes that he knew like the back of his hand. But those days are now faint memories. “There’s usually no reason to,” Yixing replies. “The only people who like cooking are those with someone to [ cook for](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eY394uqk9Q).”

Junmyeon looks as if he’s about to choke on his bite, but he quickly recollects himself. “That’s true,” he nods. “I get that it’s a good skill to have, but sometimes I just don’t see the point. It’s not like I have the talent for it, anyway.”

The comment piques something in Yixing. “What do you mean you don’t have the talent for it?” he contends. “Everyone is talented if they try enough.”

“Well, maybe in theory, but-”

“You’d never know unless you try.” Chanyeol’s family didn’t put kitchens in their apartments for nothing, after all. “We can make dinner ourselves sometime, and you’ll see that it can be done.”

Junmyeon titters and shakes his head. “You’ll be surprised by how horrible I am.”

“It can only go up from there, then.” Yixing smiles. His meal arrives, and with one bite he’s humming in delight. It makes Junmyeon laugh, the kind that scrunches his face and makes his cheeks bulge, and the sound is like music to Yixing’s ears.

**

Junmyeon’s apartment is, to put it generously, cluttered. To his credit, he prepares everything they need to make pork stir-fry, and more - there are seemingly brand new pans and pots, a range of knives, and various salts, oils and vinegars that Yixing has never seen before in his life. He even gets them matching aprons.

But soon the questions are rolling in.

“What does ‘four green onions’ look like?”

“This is stupid, but I don’t know how to mince garlic cloves.”

“Am I supposed to wash the ginger first? Because I definitely didn’t do that.”

Yixing takes all the queries in stride, providing figurative and literal hand holding for Junmyeon, but making sure he tries it all himself. 

After nearly an hour, the stir-fry is ready on the dining table with piping hot steamed rice, lettuce and ssamjang.

Yixing digs in, and although he already knows what it tastes like, each spoonful still leaves him wanting more. He’s taking more meat pieces from the plate when he notices Junmyeon stirring his bowl, looking somewhat struck.

“What’s wrong?” Yixing asks. “Is it too salty? Maybe we put on too much-”

“The food’s great,” Junmyeon blurts. “I can’t believe I helped make this. It was mostly you, really. But it’s just-” he strokes his own nape, “I’m really dumb to not know these stuff, hey. You’re being so patient, but it must be annoying.”

“Who told you it was annoying?”

Junmyeon only realises the question isn’t rhetorical when Yixing doesn’t stop staring. “Well, um. I don’t know.”

“I definitely didn’t. And I don’t feel that way, in case you’re wondering.” Yixing puts the meat pieces between his chopsticks on Junmyeon’s plate. “Eat up, it’s really good. A bit spicy, though.”

Junmyeon smiles a little, still unable to meet Yixing’s gaze. “You can’t have spicy food?”

Yixing picks up a chunky cut of onion, courtesy of Junmyeon’s butchering earlier. “Not too much of it.”

“I guess I’ll find a recipe to suit next time.”

The implication brings a smile to Yixing’s face, too.

**

“I have nothing for you today.”

Chanyeol flicks his head from the soundboard. “What?”

“Yeah, I haven’t really been making new songs.” Yixing grimaces. It only occurred to him this morning, before he went to the studio, that he hasn’t prepared any workable demos for this week.

It’s not like he’s been busy, not exactly – his life right now is a little too empty for that excuse. But these days he finds himself distracted with diversions; fun, little nothings.

Cooking dinner with Junmyeon has become a routine, along with supermarket trips and visits to the neighbourhood coffee shops. It’s nice, getting to know Junmyeon, chit chatting about nothing in particular and getting out of his own head.

“I made a new friend.” Yixing admits. “Someone who lives at your building.”

Chanyeol furrows his brows. “Oh.”

“So I’m sorry about the tracks. I’ll-“

“You know what, don’t,” Chanyeol cuts, his expression softening. “It’s good that you’re slowing down. You deserve a break.”

Yixing knows what Chanyeol is getting at, with the implicit acknowledgment of his state. “Everyone goes through something like this. It’s not an excuse for anything.”

Chanyeol shakes his head. “I’m speaking to you as a friend, not as a co-producer or whatever.” He extends his hand, grabbing Yixing’s shoulder. “This is what we’ve all been wishing for you. You don’t always have to be useful to other people all the time.”

Yixing’s laugh is bitter. “Isn’t that why you called me here? So that I can help you with work, be productive for you?”

“Work will always be there, hyung. They’re never ending. But there’s only one Zhang Yixing.” Chanyeol chuckles. “In the meantime, why don’t you tell me about this friend?”

**

They are preparing bulgogi and fried rice at Yixing’s, talking about their week so far when Junmyeon pops a question.

“You and Chanyeol. How did you two meet?”

Yixing cracks an egg and pours the content into the pan. “We attended the same college, here in Seoul,” he begins. “We used to write songs and perform in festivals, so we hung out a lot. Then we got in touch with some recording labels. An LA-based company signed me on before graduation, so I left early. He stayed here and built his own studio.” 

The egg sizzles and thickens on the pan. “But we kept in touch throughout, mostly, and now I’m here.”

“It’s amazing that you can stay friends after so many years,” Junmyeon remarks. “I’m not really good at this, actually.”

“At what?”

“Being friends.”

Yixing’s heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?”

Junmyeon tastes the bulgogi sauce from his skillet and hums. “I haven’t been in touch with my friends - if you could still call them that - for ages. They don’t reach out, either.” Yixing passes him the salt, somewhat relieved that it didn’t go the way he expected it to. 

Junmyeon continues, “I kinda get it. Life goes on, and people get busy with their career and relationships. But it often feels like I’m holding on to something that I should’ve let go a long time ago. Or I’m just setting myself up for disappointment, because they don’t see me as a friend the way I see them.”

Yixing turns off the stove under the pan. “In my case, the credit should go to Chanyeol, really. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for his stubbornness.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not great at making or keeping friends either.” Yixing transfers the rice onto a large dish. He takes a deep breath, preparing for what he’s about to share. “There were some things going on in LA that I didn’t take very well, and I pushed everyone away. I thought people like Chanyeol would blame me, but he didn’t.”

“Did you do something wrong?”

 _Wrong_ would not be the word Yixing uses, though he undoubtedly made mistakes. But the result is pretty much the same regardless of semantics. “I didn’t do my best.”

“You probably did.”

“How would you know?”

“Because you’re still punishing yourself over it.” Junmyeon also turns off his stove and finds a bowl. “And I think Chanyeol can see that, too. That’s probably the reason he’s still keeping in touch.”

“I probably don’t deserve it.”

“Would you rather he let go of you?” Junmyeon puts the meat in the bowl and rummages the racks for something.

Yixing knows he’s looking for the sesame seed jar, and steps closer to sprinkle the content onto the bulgogi. “No. I don’t know what I would do if it weren’t for him.”

Junmyeon hums and takes both dishes onto the table. 

“For what it’s worth, Junmyeon-ah, you should contact your friends if you want.” Yixing follows him with rice bowls and cups. “It’s not embarrassing to hold on. I envy those who are open like that, who can express what they want. We need more people like that. I hope you will have someone like that, too.”

Junmyeon, who is still standing over the table, now stares at him. “In that case, would you let me know if I cling too much to you? I know we’re supposed to be _soulmates_ ,” the word sounds choked, “but know that you’re not obligated to stay. Above all, I would appreciate your honesty.”

Yixing wants to dismiss that as nonsense - he will always want to hold on to Junmyeon, too. But he’s older now, and he knows promises are just wishful thinking. So he smiles instead. “Noted. Now, shall we eat?”

From the food, Yixing can tell Junmyeon no longer needs his help preparing meals. But Junmyeon is slowly taking up more space in his life anyway, and Yixing can no longer in good conscience say it’s simply a diversion.

**

It’s Sunday evening, and Junmyeon is a little lethargic. It’s been a long week, he says, and he is a little hungover from last night’s meeting with his friends. Not all of them responded to his messages, but those who came said they were glad Junmyeon got in touch.

Amidst his stories, Junmyeon suddenly blurts, “You never told me you’re the producer ZYX.”

Yixing stops strumming his guitar, pink crawling up his cheeks. “Where is this coming from?”

“My friends saw my mark last night, so I just gave them some stories,” Junmyeon throws his head back on the couch. “One of them recognised your name, said you’re this terrific songwriter.”

Yixing hasn’t stopped blushing. “That was unexpected.”

“Anyway, it reminded me that I hadn’t checked your songs beyond what you sent me. So I went and checked your Wikipedia page.” Junmyeon turns from where he’s leaning. “It turns out you’re the one who wrote _Give Me A Chance_. I don’t even listen to trendy pop, and I know that song.”

“Well. Yeah, that’s me.” Yixing doesn’t know how to proceed. Maybe Junmyeon is the type who hates his songs, who would describe his music as “sappy” or “cheesy” on the Internet.

“Fate is strange.” Junmyeon chuckles, closing his eyes.

For a few moments they sit there without words, and the only sound in the room comes from Yixing’s guitar strings.

It is Junmyeon who breaks the silence. “Have you ever been in love?”

Yixing admires his own composure with the sudden question. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” Junmyeon’s eyes are open again. “You’ve written hundreds of love songs.”

“That’s part and parcel of being a mainstream songwriter.”

“Would you make a trade out of it if you didn’t at least believe in the concept?”

Yixing exhales. It is bound to come out at some point. “I’ve been in love, once. It was the reason why I came to LA.”

Junmyeon shifts his body to face Yixing.

The words continue pouring out. “I first met Baekhyun when I was 19. We were both foreigners who spoke Korean poorly, but he was always so much braver. He encouraged me to get my music out, to go on stages, to speak to people like Chanyeol.

“Most of all, he believed he could do anything he put his mind to, that he could create his own destiny. So he told me he loved me,” Yixing takes another deep breath, “despite the marks on our arms.”

Yixing remembers Baekhyun’s argument clearly. Sure, their first words to each other weren’t what was etched on their arms. Sure, their marks never changed colours throughout their time together, like a soulmate mark should. But Baekhyun said he knew how he felt, and he wanted to be with Yixing. 

So they took the leap, and moved to Baekhyun’s hometown. Lots of people ended up with non-soulmates anyway, they would say as they spent the entire evening studying the marks on their arms. Baekhyun would playfully press on each word of Yixing’s mark – “yes” and “no” – as Yixing offered suggestions for dinner. 

But years passed by, and they started gasping for air. ”Everything was perfect. We had money, we were considerably successful. Yet we grew unhappy. We spent our last years trying to be satisfied, but it just wasn’t working. So we went our separate ways.”

Junmyeon stares at their mugs on the table, trying to absorb all that’s just been said. “Do you still love him?”

“I care about him a lot, still. I don’t think it’s going to stop,” Yixing replies. “But we fell out of love with each other. We grew out of the relationship. It’s run its course, and our paths are to diverge.”

What Yixing leaves out is how scary it is to step out onto the unknown path, alone, starting over again at this age, after so many years.

“So this is why you said you’re not looking for a relationship.”

Yixing could feel Junmyeon’s stare at him, even if he’s not looking back. These days, it feels like his conviction is shaking, but his cuts and tears are barely healed as they are.

So he opts for deflection. “What about you?”

Junmyeon fidgets with the pillow next to him. “I don’t think I’ve been in love,” he mutters. “I dated a few people, but it never lasted long enough.”

“Why is that, do you think?”

“I don’t know how it’s supposed to feel like when it’s right,” Junmyeon says. “I found myself just simulating, playing the part of a good boyfriend - because ‘fake it ‘til you make it’, right? But I think they caught on before I did. Everything was there, except for the most important thing.” 

The guitar sits idly on Yixing’s lap. 

“Do you think it’s because of the soulmates thing, that none of it worked out?”

“No,” Yixing replies immediately. “You may have these words, but at the end of the day, you feel what you feel.”

“So you would still be friends with me even if we don’t have these words?” Junmyeon teases, but his grin turns into a tender smile when Yixing answers with earnest, serious tone: “Of course.”

Junmyeon blinks repeatedly - drowsiness has got to him. He sinks even further on the couch. 

“You can sleep if you want.”

“Really?”

“Come on, it’s just me. Make yourself comfortable.” Yixing puts his guitar aside and moves the pillow to the end of the couch, prompting Junmyeon to lay down.

Junmyeon reluctantly complies, and he watches as Yixing steps into his room and comes out with a blanket.

As he curls under the throw, Junmyeon speaks up again. “Yixing-ah.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think it’s worth it? Having someone who meant that much to you?”

Yixing bristles on the edges. With the grief that he’s gone through, it should be easy to make a different conclusion. But instead he answers, “Yes. Even if it all ends the same, I would go through it again.”

Junmyeon looks at him from behind the blanket, eyes big and glassy, as if he’s reading through him. 

Yixing turns off the lights and enters his own room, trying to calm the thrumming in his chest.

When he leaves his room around midnight to get a drink, the couch is empty and the blanket is folded. Junmyeon has left. 

**

Life goes on, Yixing finds. His LA days slowly turn into distant memory, and the here and now has begun taking shape, now that he’s courageous enough to feel things even in the dark.

He starts writing songs again. Only two of his tracks are included for a singer’s upcoming album, but one of them is chosen as the second single. Chanyeol jumps to hug him when Yixing shyly suggests he treat him to Daedo Sikdang to celebrate the occasion.

_Is this the right decision?_

Junmyeon has also become a fixture in his life, perhaps long before Yixing acknowledges it.

It’s snowing outside, and they are finishing the galbitang that Junmyeon whipped up. He had insisted on cooking it on his own, intent on proving his skills. These days he is on a quest to tackle new skills, with his latest interest being crocheting. 

While Yixing washes the dirty dishes, Junmyeon returns to his purple yarn. Yixing once asked if he’s making a vest to wear to work, but Junmyeon huffed in response. “It’s gonna be a blanket,” he said, and explained no further. The crochet has quadrupled in size since that conversation, and it looks on track to grow even bigger.

Junmyeon’s lips are still jutted in deep focus when Yixing walks towards the couch. _It’s adorable_ , Yixing thinks, and he’s aware that such thoughts are crossing a line, so he tears his gaze away.

But it’s too late, because Junmyeon already notices his presence and asks why he’s not sitting down.

“You seem really into it,” Yixing says as he settles next to him.

“Do you want to try?”

“I don’t really do craft.”

“Someone told me everyone is talented if they try enough,” Junmyeon smirks, but he rummages into his bag and pulls out crochet hooks and blue wool yarn before placing them onto Yixing’s hands.

Yixing holds his breath and tries to focus only on Junmyeon’s instructions as the other shows him how to hold the hooks and create chain stitches. Soon he gets the hang of it and -

“I’m afraid.”

Yixing looks up and is met with Junmyeon, who is looking right into his eyes. “What?”

“The night we met, I told you I was content on my own. But I wasn’t. I was afraid,” he almost whispers. “I still am.”

“Afraid of what?” Yixing’s heartbeat stutters inside his ribcage.

“Of this,” Junmyeon says, gazing at the space between them. “For the first time, it feels right. Like, I understand your songs now. I don’t have to put myself in somebody else’s shoes. I just have to think of you, and I get the picture.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means I’m in love with you.” Junmyeon’s bottom lip quivers. “And I’m so scared, because even if you’re not mine to lose, I-”

The words are stuck in his throat when Yixing closes the distance between them and meets his lips in a delicate kiss.

When they separate, Yixing moves his hands to hold Junmyeon’s. “I’m afraid, too,” he murmurs. “And I know I’m not obligated to stay, but I want to. Will you let me?”

A smile blooms on Junmyeon’s face.

_Yes._

**

Sunlight begins peeking between the curtains, stirring Yixing awake.

He turns to his side to find Junmyeon nestled onto his chest, wrapped under the blanket they completed together. The purple-blue yarn may not be the prettiest, but they would swear it’s the most comfortable thing in the world.

Junmyeon’s hand is grasping on his arm, thumbing over the red letters of his mark.

Junmyeon is here, by his side, holding on to him.

Yixing kisses the top of Junmyeon’s head and snuggles against his soulmate. When a peck is planted back on his forehead, he isn’t exactly surprised.

Even if he doesn’t know what the future holds, he wouldn’t trade this for the world.


End file.
